The Chosen
by LindyStar
Summary: Hidan was born into a world colored by blood and violence. He has a choice as to how he can see the world. This is about Hidan, his choice, Kakuzu, and how sometimes there is more to things than what lies at the surface.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** After reading through some of my favorite stories so I could create a KakuHida rec-list, I was bitten by this plot bunny examining Hidan's ostensible masochism. This is only the first part of a probably 3-4 chapter long story. As usual, I don't own the Naruto characters, but I do like to borrow them and play pretend!

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Hidan was born into a world colored by blood and violence. One of pain and death, sorrow and suffering. Churned out in a red sanguine wash and baptized with his mother's tears, the first painful breath of life drawing a wail from his small white chest.

Looking out through his candy-colored eyes at a landscape painted in brutality by the cruelty of war, Hidan first knew hate. War was hell on earth, and other people were the origin of all that suffering. Their greed and lust, their never-ending desires for more than what they needed. And he hated them for it. He hated never having enough, always being hungry, always cold, always frightened, always discounted and ignored and marginalized because of his too-pale eyes and skin and hair and his pretty pretty face; not a warriors face.

But, there was one who looked at him and saw past the porcelain perfection down to his poisoned hate and anger and rage. A Jashinite priest who would become his mentor, his deliverer, his guide on the road to salvation; a road that would be paved in his own blood and suffering and agony and which led to a place where his life-blood became a weapon of death and his body and soul an indestructible tool that rose again and again, a triumph and a testament to Jashin.

Blood had spilled from his body in crimson rivers like prayers that rushed from his lips that very first awful time. Hidan had not been afraid though. He had the strength of his conviction like a mountain holding him up when first he took the piercing metallic rod and clasped it like a lover against his breast. Hidan took his own life, lifted it up in bloody hands and layed it on the alter for Jashin. A gift, an offering, a sacrifice; and Jashin in all His terrible glory glutted himself with the anguish prepared for Him, took it tenderly and mercilessly and reached down with his wicked hand and blessed-cursed Hidan as _The Chosen._

Hidan trained as a shinobi after he was given _The Gift_. Nobody could deny him now- he was valuable, ruthless and indestructible. A perfect weapon that would not rust to ruin but shine on forever and ever, Amen.

He wasn't afraid of pain, no, pain was the bread of his life, feeding his hungry God and in his ritual it brought with it catharsis. Because afterwards, when he felt the power of Jashin flowing through him, taking the heathen consecrated sacrifice along with his own pain and then, oh then! His body rejecting death, strength and power reforming him whole and pure and perfect, his skin anointed with blood and the taste of triumph in his mouth. He'd wept few enough times in his life that he could recall them- that first time had been one of them.

That first time. It was better than anything he could have imagined. He felt for once, like he mattered, like his life was not an endless, needless struggle going round and round in circles getting nowhere, being no one. He was worthwhile and valuable. Loved- it could not be called- Jashin was not a God of love but one of misery and hate, of suffering, agony, despair. Not ever love. So Hidan had taken what he could get, and like his wounded body, he gathered the hurt and pain and reformed it into something perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Warning for profanity (_this story does, after all, feature Hidan._) BTW, reviews. are. love.

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Hidan hated to be ignored. Absolutely couldn't stand it. It was like he needed the constant attention to provide some sort of self-validation. Kakuzu thought it was from possessing such a hugely inflated ego and exaggerated sense of grandeur because of his religion, that Hidan felt superior to everyone and out of some sort of beneficent gesture, deigned to grace the world with his unceasing chatter like some divine prophet whose words were gold.

What a crock.

Hidan had the dirtiest mouth of anyone Kakuzu had ever met. Nearly every other word he spoke was some type of profanity, and everything else was about how his God Jashin would smite everyone for being ignorant heathens, and how Hidan was his only disciple. Like he was cursing people not only with his rituals, but also with every poisoned word that left his lips.

Kakuzu couldn't have been more wrong.

When he started off from his village, dead neighbors in a mangled pile, scythe in hand and crossed-out hitae-ate around his throat, Hidan had been a very insecure person. Although he was reassured immensely by his faith and ritual resurrection, being able to rise again and again, Praise Jashin! from the blood-soaked ground, proving each time he was The Chosen, his personal life was filled with self-doubt.

He never doubted Jashin, no, his faith was unshakable. His doubt came from his dealings with the outside world. Through his worship, Hidan received confirmation of his purpose and direction for his life, but not comfort. It just wasn't possible to really feel good about the actual committing of violence against oneself. At least, it hadn't been in the beginning. Things had gotten confusing after a while.

It was a paradox, see. It was like calling yourself a dirty worthless filthy slut and believing it. Again. And again. And again. Denigrating your personal value, slandering your good name, tromping your worth into the spoiled ground. It took it's toll. But at the same time, after you called yourself a dirty worthless filthy slut you got an amazingly good reward. Like a full-body orgasm. Really, to be harming your own body, to perpetrate self-injury, why the hell would you hurt _yourself_? Why would anyone want to inflict such a huge personal insult to their own body? And then _like _it? Because of that reward that came afterwards, oh, right. Like Pavlov's dog, getting excited at the sound of the bell when really it was the food that it wanted.

That's how it began to happen. Hidan began to anticipate the pain, see it as a good thing, to anticipate it and want it. But not really. He just wanted what came after, his own personal miracle, but it didn't seem to matter to his body, because it craved the pain, ached for it, sought it out even when he KNEW he didn't really want to be hurting. Hidan would find that when his mind wandered, if he was bored, he'd chew his nails down to the quick or pinch his skin until mottled bruises appeared. He'd bite at his cheeks until the metallic, acrid taste of blood filled his mouth and then be startled to realize he'd done it intentionally.

Hidan hadn't become indifferent towards his own pain, he'd just become apathetic. It was so fucking pointless to try and resist the madness, so much easier to let the struggle slide by and relish in the whole experience. Now, it was all about the control, the power and fear he could force another person to feel. His pain became_ their_ pain, his suffering became _theirs _and all the pain was given in the name of his God. The fear and horror, he savored it, craved it and channeled it to Jashin. To make those filthy atheistic heathens feel the wrath and terror of his God, and then the true power of Jashin when his body became whole again. And when Hidan felt the rush of relief when it was finally over, it made him so grateful, so fucking _thankful_, such awe and wonder when he felt the healing power of his faith sweep through him. But it was a poisoned bitter greedy blessing, not bestowed out of mercy but like rebuilding an army, awful and terrible.

The really tragic part of it all was that not one, not even one of those damned fools ever got it. They all looked at him and only saw a crazy sadistic zealot, not the harbinger of salvation- his and theirs-, not the resurrection, not the glory of Jashin. How could not a single measly one see that he was fucking _miraculous_? A one-of-a-kind supernatural wonder? A Jashin-damned apostle whose mission was not to spread the faith but only to make the world burn, and not a single person ever understood. It made Hidan want to laugh hysterically. And before too long he stopped holding it back, and peals of crazed laughter, spine-tingling shrieks of hysterical furor spilled from his bloody mouth.

How could he ever have hoped that Kakuzu would be different? That the man, the closest thing to being immortal as was found this side of hell or heaven, would be able, with all his life experience, to see the marvel and appreciate Hidan as the revelation? What a fucking disappointment. It made him furious. Hidan had heard of Kakuzu and sought him out perhaps not for the express purpose of recognition of the sublime, but for knowledge and guidance and maybe companionship

Hidan had thought Kakuzu would be so much better than the utterly stupid, bland, boring masses of humanity. That his age and experience would make him a valuable ally, someone he could relate to and learn from, how to navigate his way through the ages. But instead, Kakuzu was just as entrenched in the materialistic obsessions as the rest of the world. He was normally as cold as the lifeless gold coins he sought after so diligently. Terribly callous, had a temper of a three-year-old but the strength of five men, and had nothing but utter disregard, even contempt for Hidan's religion and all faiths. After that epiphany, Hidan had felt doubly cursed. Damned to suffer the pain of death but never die, to haunt the earth for all eternity in a never-ending cycle of suicide and reanimation, taking those who were ignorant with him only in the former. Cursed in that way but also to never having a single one realize the glory and horror of Jashin. He was the only. The singular. The Chosen _one_.

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"Fuck. FUCK! Did you hear that stupid little cock-sucking motherfucker scream like a little girl Kakuzu?! Fucking priceless, the look on his Jashin-damned face. Bet he didn't see that one coming, eh? Hahaahahaaaa! Fucking priceless, the useless pansy-ass."

Hidan staggered up from where he had been sprawled within the sacrificial circle, casually dusting the seat of his pants off and wiping some semi-congealed blood from the corners of his mouth. He stretched languidly, giving a loud "Shit! Ahhhh~" when his spine popped noisily. Kakuzu's mouth wrinkled in a frown as he observed his partner's rather unsavory display.

"Took you long enough. Here get dressed, we've wasted enough time." And with that, Kakuzu shoved Hidan's cloak at him.

Hidan had learned to discard that part of his uniform prior to sacrifices if he didn't want Kakuzu to lay into him. Even though the cloaks were waterproof, they still needed a lot of upkeep to get blood off of them, especially the copious amounts of blood Hidan rendered . Although Hidan always wore his open, to both display his Jashinite rosary and so that he had a clear shot of his chest, giving him easier access to stab himself during battle, it was more expedient just to slide the cloak off the shoulder it still clung to and not worry about getting holes in it. Kakuzu would only sew up so many things for Hidan, body- or clothing-wise.

"Jeez, lighten up old man! You can't hurry greatness." Hidan said rather smugly, rubbing at some patches of dried blood so that they flaked off into the rust-colored dirt.

"Speaking of greatness, that felt fucking fantastic! Damn, really worked that bastard over didn't I?" He'd followed Kakuzu over to the collapsed figure of the dead bounty and kicked at the leg.

"You might have used a little more restraint," Kakuzu sniped, as he sent out threads and began sewing up a number of gaping jagged slashes that would have spilled innards everywhere if he had simply righted the corpse.

"Ha! Fucking ha! That's rich, coming from you. You lose your shit all the time Kakuzu! Can't be good for your blood pressure. Hey, you gotta' watch out, don't wanna have a coronary now, old man! Hahaha~urk!" Kakuzu's backhand nearly caught him across the face at that last comment, forcing Hidan to make a flailing graceless leap to the side.

Apparently, the waiting for the ritual to end had used up all the Waterfall nin's patience.

"Shit! Mmmm, what the hell Kakuzu! Crazy bastard!"

"Shut-up already, you'd probably have enjoyed that too, just like your rituals." Kakuzu slung the bounty over his shoulder and looked disparagingly to where Hidan was wiping the thin line of blood off his chin.

"Fuck you, Kakuzu! You don't understand squat about me or my rituals, fucking heathen shit-for-brains." Hidan spat clotted blood into the dirt as he finished removing evidence of the battle and the covering the Jashin symbol with dirt, kicking angrily at the ground.

Kakuzu raised an eyebrow at that, but decided he really didn't care; it was high time they get moving so he could reach the bounty drop-point before sunset.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: As per usual, I neither own nor profit from this fanwork based on the manga 'Naruto'.

"_So it is said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you can win a hundred battles without a single loss._

_If you only know yourself, but not your opponent, you may win or may lose._

_If you know neither yourself nor your enemy, you will always endanger yourself."_

_-Chinese proverb_

Kakuzu's patience is far from infinite; time has only made him intolerant of the vague annoyances in life rather than bringing temperance. Hidan is still learning to feel out the limits and boundaries of Kakuzu's existence, his moods hidden behind a mask, face closed off from the world, his fuse burning down behind the scenes with only guesswork to tell when he is going to blow up.

Hidan always pushes the limits; pushes Kakuzu's buttons, pushes and prods and teases until he often enough is on the receiving end of violent upheaval.

They aren't yet far enough along in their partnership for Hidan to know what is going to set Kakuzu off; he has the vague outlines of Kakuzu plotted out in blurry black and white, but there is still a lot of gray area to uncover. For certain, anything dealing with money is a sure-fire route to pain and discomfort, whether in the form of physical injury or sharp words and looks.

Wasting money for sure is asking for trouble. Time, now, time is another matter not quite so clear-cut. Kakuzu takes his time it battle, waits things out, examines his opponents before making any move. But, he's always rushing Hidan through his rituals, commenting in a harsh tone about how long they take and how they are behind because of the time it takes to complete them. And yet he never interrupts Hidan when he is completing his ceremonies. One might conclude from this deference that Kakuzu is being considerate of Hidan's religion, but that is certainly not the case: the taki nin only makes the most snide and disparaging comments when directly accosted by Hidan, and mostly he just ignores religion completely, a 'waste of time'.

Unlike Hidan, Kakuzu has a defined the parameters that make up the zealot. Not only because he is an astute observer and the younger man's failure to completely mask his own weaknesses, but his ability to see himself in context. While it is true that Kakuzu's temper is violent when unleashed, he has better control and restraint over his nature than the younger man. The front that Hidan puts up, the careless, wicked, devil-may-care attitude, does not fool Kakuzu at all. No stranger to concealment, he is able to read behind that boisterous façade and see the unrest. Hidan is driven by the need to constantly perform his ritualistic worship; it is like a drug to him, he needs it in an addictive, compulsive way. Kakuzu is obsessed with money in a similar manner, constantly driven to amass and gather resources to ensure his survival in the corporeal world. In this way he is able to understand and better manipulate Hidan should he so choose. For Hidan, the motivation for his actions is not only to please the God that binds his spirit to the physical realm, but for the perverse enjoyment and power he has over his victims during the sacrifices, and the physically gratifying sensation of his body being made well and whole afterwards. The essential component in this case is to remove the aspect of control over that which is the object of value- for Kakuzu that would be money, for Hidan, it is pain, specifically, the control of and how it is administered to his body.

"Are you quite done there?" Kakuzu glances suspiciously to where Hidan has been making more noise than usual, strange soft giggling laughter.

Hidan looks over with a furtive grin and slides the pike lewdly into his chest, arches his spine and licks bloody lips, his gasp of pain utterly disingenuous.

Kakuzu is not one to be toyed with- to make a mockery of the Herculean effort it takes him to sit by while the zealot completes his ablutions will not be tolerated. He is on his feet in an instant, suddenly right there, and Hidan only manages to withdraw his spear halfway before Kakuzu's hand closes around it and tears it out with a rough jerk.

Hidan gives a shout at the sudden disconnection, hands and feet scrabbling in the dirt to try and boost him up to face the challenge, but he never gets up off his elbows. Hidan's eyes widen almost comically as he sees Kakuzu bring down his arm in a violent arc to plunge the steel rod into his chest. The force of it puts Hidan flat on his back in the dirt, the metal now several feet into the earth below him.

Kakuzu plants one foot squarely on Hidan's torso, stealing his breath, and uses this as leverage to jerk the pike out. If there had been air in his lungs Hidan would have screamed, but instead his lips peel back from his teeth in silence, limbs jerking as the metal slides out of his flesh with a spatter of blood. He struggles and thrashes, frantically trying to dislodge Kakuzu, but the man is as solid as a rock pinning him down while he continues to thrust the pike again and again into Hidan's body. Clawing at the foot and ankle pressed firmly against him, only gets a warning in the form of more weight pressing down, ribs threatening to crack with the force. Hidan can't breathe, can't move, can only hold on in a deathgrip and writhe feebly as Kakuzu releases his anger.

The enraged man is really laying into him, the rod moving up and down in vicious stabbing motions, slamming into his body so much more forcefully than Hidan can manage on his own. It is so much better than he can do on his own, so much more: faster, harder, plunging deeper through him and into the blood-soaked soil. And Kakuzu, his large frame imposing as it towers over him, his aura angry and terrifying, eyes ablaze with bloodlust boring into him. Hidan is being built up to a level of ecstasy he seldom reaches when Kakuzu rips the pike out for the last time, letting it clatter noisily as he flings it away. Hidan's hand follows the pike automatically, reaching out in involuntary desire. Seeing that gesture only serves to infuriate Kakuzu more, and he straddles Hidan's chest, gathering his wrists into one broad palm and pinning them above his head and letting the other wrap firmly around Hidan's throat. Hidan makes choking noises as Kakuzu clamps his hand down tightly.

Hidan's body is on fire, every puncture wound like a burning coal, his lungs ablaze with the need to draw breath, his wrists and throat being crushed in what feels like bands of steel. Kakuzu bears down more, and the structure of his windpipe gives way, collapsing like a smashed accordion, and Hidan feels the blood collecting in his throat, trickling down into his lungs and seeping in from the punctures, and the need to breathe is compounded by the sensation of drowning in bloody fluids. He thinks that he can't possibly take more, that he will black out and be swept into unconsciousness as his body gives itself over to not-death and begins the process of recovery once more.

But Kakuzu isn't letting that happen- he needs this to be punishment, not facilitation.

Releasing his grip from the mangled neck, Kakuzu lifts himself off Hidan, turning him onto his side so he won't suffocate on the blood. He wrestles Hidan's arms down and pins them behind his back, subduing the smaller man as he chokes and convulses while his throat mends itself.

"F'ker, _*cough*_ le' me go" Hidan manages, bloody spume dripping down his chin.

Kakuzu answers this by punching him in the kidney. Hard.

Hidan's face screws up in agony and he gasps through clenched teeth, curling in on himself. Bruised organs take nearly a week to heal fully. He'll probably be pissing blood for a few days. Suddenly, this isn't taking the direction it was before- Kakuzu is all cold brutality where before he was hot-headed rage. Hidan doesn't like the edge of control Kakuzu is gaining. He gasps weakly for a few more seconds before Kakuzu yanks him upright, head spinning and vision blurring as his body struggles to keep blood flowing to his brain.

His torso is an oil-slick of blood, the riddled holes in his chest still oozing sluggishly. Still defiant, Hidan manages to spit a bloody clot into Kakuzu's face, expecting to infuriate the other nin. Unfortunately, Kakuzu is determined to win this, for whatever it is worth. Kakuzu wipes the blood off his face and then draws back his fist and punches Hidan in the kidney again. Hidan clenches his teeth around the whimper of pain that bubbles up, choking it down along with bile that rises with it, cringing away.

"I won't tolerate your games, Hidan" Kakuzu rumbles, implacable once more.

Hidan tries to snipe out a retort but ends up gagging on blood. Kakuzu releases him to fall onto hands and knees, fighting a losing battle to the upset of his insides until he finally vomits blood and stomach acid in a hot slippery mess onto the soil. He stays with his head bent to the ground for a while, panting raggedly before glaring venomous hatred up at his waiting partner.

Hidan is boiling with impotent anger; humiliated and injured. There's really nothing he can do at this point to save face, they both know Kakuzu has won this round. But Hidan is nothing if not resilient, and he'll just have to bide his time (that's all he's got, afterall) Kakuzu may have drawn a line, but Hidan isn't giving an inch.

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**A/N:** This really could have been a stand alone piece rather than part of the main fic flow, but it does fit into that universe, so I kind of stuck it in there. The ending feels kind of abrupt, like it wants to be more, but eh- I'll be going on vacation and will be swamped at work, so I wanted to post now while I actually have a spare moment. The initial stabbity part draws a heavy influence from 'Strange Love' by AkatsukiBoi, some nice impalement there, in more than one way *waggles eyebrows*. And, that beginning quote is from The Art of War: .org/wiki/The_Art_of_War#Quotations


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